Late Night Visit
by stellar asterism
Summary: Losing some sleep and a bottle of sherry is, apparently, one of the many ways to make your day better.


It was raining that night, the kind of rain that created the perfect weather to sleep under a warm, cozy blanket, which was exactly what Antonio was doing at the moment. Snuggled under a soft blanket, the nation was sleeping peacefully, a faint smile on his lips. It had been a pretty tiring day, what with how he had to tend to both international and national affairs, as well as his tomatoes, but it was enjoyable enough. Would have been more enjoyable with Lovino's presence, he had thought, but he couldn't always have everything he wanted. Besides, the Italian would be busy with—

"Open up, you bastard! Do you have any fucking idea how long I've been out here, knocking on your damn door?"

The cranky, oh-so-familiar voice instantly woke Antonio up, causing him to stir and let out a soft groan. He blinked a few times, wondering if it was just a dream; after all, Lovino couldn't possibly be—

"Antonio, you asshole, can't you hear me? I said open up, dammit!"

Alright, now that couldn't possibly be a dream.

Without thinking, the Spaniard got off his bed and hurried towards his front door, the sound of furious knocking and colorful curses filling the air. He quickly unlocked the door and opened it, not wanting the obviously fuming Italian at the other side of the door become even more incensed than he already was. An angry—well, too angry—Lovino was never a good thing.

A familiar scowl greeted him the moment he opened the door, greenish brown eyes glaring daggers at him from beneath the soaked bangs. Had he been a stranger to the Italian's attitude, perhaps he would have flinched at the rather intimidating sight. Thank god he was armed with centuries of experience in handling the younger nation.

"Uh, Lovino..." Antonio tentatively began after a moment of awkward silence, his next words coming out stammered as his mind rushed to process the whole thing, "Why... What are you... Oh, wait, come in!" He quickly pulled the drenched nation inside, ignoring—or rather, failing to hear—the murmured 'about time, you bastard' that came from the soaked brunet as he began fussing over him. "A-are you alright? What happened? Why are you here? Are you cold? Should I get a towel and a change of clothes for you? Or would you like to have a shower first before—"

"Shut the hell up, idiot." Lovino shot the older nation a glare, a mixture of annoyance and tiredness in his eyes. "You're giving me a headache."

"Ah, sorry..." the Spaniard quietly said, still looking at the younger brunet with worry clearly pictured on his face, "But you should at least dry yourself and change out of those clothes. Wearing wet clothing ain't good for—"

"_I know_, Antonio," he grumbled, crossing his arms, eyes still fixed at the other. "I'm not a little kid anymore, stupid." The brunet rolled his eyes and let out a displeased huff as he stepped deeper into the house, walking past the older nation without hesitation. "You'd better have something strong in the kitchen."

"Eh? But, Lovi, you shouldn't—"

"_Don't_ tell me what to do. Now go get me a change of clothes."

The Italian's sharp tone gave Antonio more than enough incentive to leave and get the change of clothes Lovino demanded. He certainly didn't want to accidentally annoy Lovino to the point of leaving—at least, not until the brunet was dressed in proper clothing and answered all the questions regarding his sudden appearance here.

—

To be honest, Antonio wasn't really surprised to see Lovino holding a half-empty bottle of sherry the moment he stepped into the kitchen. He frowned slightly at the absence of a glass, realizing that the younger nation had been drinking straight from the bottle; he was most likely going for the alcohol rather than the taste. Vaguely, he wondered why Lovino seemed to be in a really, really bad mood, much worse than usual, to the point of not appreciating wine properly. To think that this was the same Lovino who had once lectured him about wine when he accidentally let a particularly good one spoil.

"About time you returned, idiot," the younger brunet crankily mumbled the moment he noticed the other nation's presence, a cold glare accompanying his words. His mood hadn't gotten much better from before, despite of the sherry he'd drunk; it wasn't strong enough, obviously, despite of how he'd made sure he picked the most alcoholic of the selection he had been provided with. Or perhaps he was already drunk and just didn't realize it because of his mood. Lovino didn't really care.

Antonio could only sigh and smile weakly at the sight. "Lovino, you shouldn't drink it like that," he said, approaching the younger nation slowly, a slightly troubled expression on his face that made his chiding a lot weaker than intended.

"Don't you tell me what to do, you jerk," the Italian retorted, taking another gulp from the bottle and relaxing slightly as he felt the liquid run down his throat, warming him up. "I know more than enough about these, so shut your trap and let me drink."

"Alright, alright..." the older nation reluctantly said, cringing slightly as he watched Lovino finish the bottle in one go and slam the empty container onto the counter. Just what had happened, really? The brunet's behavior was a bit too peculiar.

"Give me that towel," Lovino demanded, taking the piece of cloth before the Spaniard could respond to his words. His speech was starting to slur slightly, though he was still very much sober—or at least, sober enough not to do anything stupid...yet.

Silently, he began to dry his damp hair, subconsciously avoiding the one curled strand as he did. He nonchalantly tossed the towel aside once he finished, running his fingers through the messed-up hair in an attempt to straighten the dark brown locks. "You should've brought a comb or something, too," he complained, shooting the older nation a glare as he held a hand out to him, "Now give me those clothes."

"...Eh?" Antonio blinked once, then twice, shooting the Italian a confused look. "You're going to change right here, with me looking and everything?"

"Yes," he answered without much thought, only realizing that he'd given the wrong answer a few seconds later. "I mean, no, of course not, you idiot," Lovino quickly corrected, cheeks slightly red from embarrassment. "Who do you think I am?" He glared accusingly at the older nation. "I'm not a certain bearded pervert who could shamelessly prance around Europe naked."

There was a long, slightly awkward moment of silence before the Italian finally spoke up out of exasperation. "_Get out_, you dumbass," he murmured through grit teeth, pointing to the door and glaring at the unbelievably dense nation to emphasize his point—otherwise, said point would probably not get across.

Another pause ensued before the Spaniard finally turned and left in a hurry, murmuring something in an apologetic tone as he scurried out of the room. Lovino watched him for a short while, making sure that the door had been closed properly before finally taking off his wet—or rather, damp—clothes. Wiping the remnants of the rainwater off his skin, he replaced his clothing with the new set Antonio had brought earlier, murmuring something about how the weather was so cold and how it felt much warmer when the rain was still pouring onto him. Perhaps it was because he was much angrier back then.

He was just about to button his shirt up when the door suddenly swung open.

"Lovino, are you done—"

A towel suddenly flew onto the Spaniard's face.

"I said _get out_, you damn pervert!" Lovino shouted, a bright shade of red coloring his cheeks, "Go wait in the living room or something, dammit! I'll come out when I'm done!"

At that, Antonio scurried out of the kitchen a second time, thankful that the Italian had thrown the towel instead of the empty bottle lying on the counter right beside him.

—

About ten minutes later, the two were already sitting on the sofa in the living room, with Lovino still sulking and Antonio still having that worried look on his face. The Italian had said nothing to him, absolutely nothing, which was really starting to bother the Spaniard.

"Um, Lovi?" he tentatively began, recoiling slightly when the younger nation shot him yet another glare, "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but... what's wrong? You're being weird."

A short pause ensued before the brunet replied. "Nothing's wrong," he crankily murmured, "And I'm not being weird, so shut up. Don't act as if you know me."

Antonio sighed and frowned. "Lovino, please, your behavior is making me—"

"I said shut up, dammit!" The Italian glared accusingly at the dark-haired nation, standing up from his seat. "It's none of your business, and it's not like you really care about it, anyway! You're just saying stuff so I won't feel too bad about the way things are!"

"Lovi, I swear, I ain't—"

"Don't you dare deny it, bastard!"

"...But I ain't denying any—oh, wait, I am, but..." Antonio fell silent for a moment, and then sighed. "Lovino, _por favor_, tell me what's wrong," he slowly, softly began, his tone sincere as he looked at the scowling nation next to him, "I care about it, I really do, so please—"

"You're a really nosy idiot, you know that?" the younger of the two retorted, though in a quieter voice than before. Wordlessly, he flopped back onto the sofa, arms crossed and a frown on his face, eyes looking away from the Spaniard. "...It's Feliciano," he finally confessed after an awkward moment of silence, reluctance clear in his tone.

Antonio sighed, a weak smile on his lips. Why wasn't he surprised? "Lovino, you know that your brother never means to hurt you or anything," he softly started, "He's a bit dense, but he means well, and—"

"You haven't even heard what happened, and you're already siding with that idiotic brother of mine?" the Italian interrupted, scowling at the older nation as he desperately tried to hide his disappointment, the prickling pain in his chest. He shouldn't have let himself think that Antonio would defend him, justify his actions.

"But I was just—"

"Antonio, the idiot brought that potato bastard to our house when I was still around and showered the jerk with attention while completely forgetting about me!" Lovino shouted, rising from his seat once again, frustration clear in his voice, "Me! His own _fratello_! Forgotten over that... that...!"

"But, Lovino, you do know how much your brother—"

"_You're still siding with him_?" the brunet growled, glaring straight into the oblivious Spaniard's eyes, "Didn't you hear what I just said a few seconds ago?"

"I did, Lovi, but—"

"Ah, what the hell! I'm leaving!" The Italian scowled at the older nation before proceeding to rush out of the living room angrily. "I don't even know why I came here! I should have known that you'd defend Feliciano!"

Antonio frowned, quickly going after the leaving brunet. "But, Lovino, it's still raining outside, and—"

"I shouldn't have hoped that you would side with me!"

At that, both nations stopped in their tracks, and Antonio silently hoped that it was the liquor talking. Lovino being honest was, more often than not, a bad sign, especially considering how the Italian usually behaved, and it usually preceded a bout of either shouting or crying—or both. He had to do something, fast.

Without thinking, the Spaniard approached the younger nation and wrapped his arms around him, loosely at first, just in case the feisty brunet decided to struggle, though he quickly tightened the hug when he saw that said brunet did nothing. "Lovino," he softly started, head lightly resting on the other nation's shoulder, "_Lo siento_, _mi amado_, _lo siento mucho_. If I had known, I would have tried not to disappoint you, but..." His voice slowly trailed off as his lips curved into a troubled smile. "_Ay_, Lovi, please don't cry. You know I hate to see you cry."

"I, I'm not crying, you bastard, don't make things up..." Lovino weakly denied, trying to sound as normal as possible and failing spectacularly. Hastily, he wiped the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes and turned to face the older nation, putting up a somewhat unconvincing scowl. "...A-and you're just saying that to make me feel better, aren't you?" he accused, if only not to seem too weak to his ex-guardian.

Antonio let out a soft chuckle and sighed. Well, at least this was the Lovino he knew. "Of course not, _querido_," he calmly said, smiling at the red-faced Italian, "_Eres mi tesoro precioso_. Of course I wouldn't want to see you cry." He gently kissed the younger brunet's forehead and tightened his hug. "So if you're going to continue, then don't let me see it."

And then, in a rare display of honesty, Lovino cried, poured his heart out to the older nation, who simply kept quiet as he soothingly ran his fingers through the Italian's dark brown hair, slowly lulling the crying nation to sleep.

—

Letting out a soft sigh, Antonio sat on the edge of his bed, tilting his head slightly so that he could see the sleeping nation behind him. He quietly smiled at the brunet, brushing a few strands of hair away from the Italian's face. Lovino should be this honest more often, he absently thought, though he quickly dismissed it; after all, Lovino just wouldn't be Lovino without that tendency to keep things to himself.

Just when he was about to slip underneath the blanket and resume his sleep, a soft buzz came from his cell phone, alerting him of a call. He quickly picked it up from the nightstand, pressing the 'answer' button without looking.

"Ah, Antonio!" came the very familiar voice from the other side of the line, "You finally answered! I was worried that you'd gone to sleep and couldn't hear the phone or something, since I've tried to call you so many times..."

The Spaniard let out a chuckle. "Oh, I just had something to tend to," he said, throwing a glance at the sleeping brunet, "What's wrong, Feliciano?"

"Um, um, I just wanted to know if my brother's there, since he's not here and—"

"Lovino's here, don't worry. He's already asleep, though, so I don't think you should talk to him..."

"Really? He's there? Ve, I'm glad~ I was worried that he'd ended up somewhere weird." Feliciano laughed softly. "Oh, oh, right," he quickly added, "Can you tell my brother that I'm sorry? He looked pretty angry when I let Ludwig into the house."

"Sure," the Spaniard lightly replied, his smile widening subconsciously. "Anything else?"

"Hmm, let's see...If you could convince him to come back, that would be great, ve~" A pause. "Oh, and don't forget to make him some pasta with lots and lots of tomatoes for breakfast!" There was another pause, this time with voices and noises in the background. "Ah, I'll have to go to sleep now," Feliciano quickly said, "Ludwig's telling me to go to sleep already, since it's already so late and he says it's not good for me to stay up so late. _Buona notte_!"

"_Buenas noches_, Feli," Antonio cheerfully replied, setting his phone aside once the call ended. Carefully, he flipped the blanket a little, positioning himself right beside Lovino before pulling the blanket over the both of them. "And _buenas noches_ to you, too, _querido_," he quietly said, planting a quick kiss on the sleeping brunet's forehead before draping his arm around the younger nation, pulling him closer. Surely, Lovino would headbutt him first thing in the morning for being this close, but at the moment, he couldn't care less—besides, it wouldn't be the first time that happened.

His day couldn't have been better, Antonio quietly thought as the sound of rain lulled him back to sleep.


End file.
